


These Iron Bars Can't Hold My Soul In

by voidnogitsune



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alive Erica Reyes, Alive Vernon Boyd, Angst, Beta Stiles, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Fear, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Abuse, Mental Anguish, Mental Instability, Minor Character Death, Murder, Nightmares, POV Derek, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Derek, Protective Derek, Romance, Scent Marking, Slow Build, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has Issues, Stiles Has Nightmares, Stiles Has Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski Has Scars, The Alpha Pack, Violence, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Wolf Derek Hale, Wolf Erica Reyes, Wolf Stiles, alternate universe sort of??, everyone is protective over stiles, idk what it would be called
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-02-10 07:49:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2016867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidnogitsune/pseuds/voidnogitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Derek, we, uh. We found something.” Scott says over the phone, and if it weren’t for the fear in his voice and the panic seeping through the bond, Derek wouldn’t have acted as quickly. </p><p>When the pack arrives, Scott is knelt down beside an amber-colored wolf, hand stroking through the fur in smooth movements. It’s barely breathing, chest rising and falling with obvious effort. There’s a chain collar wrapped around its throat, silver spikes digging into skin and fur. </p><p>Derek stalks up to the body and scents the air around the he-wolf, trying to decipher whose pack he belongs to, but all he can smell is fire and ash.</p><p>Or the one where Stiles is a werewolf from another pack and Derek's pack takes him in as their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saving Me

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been beta'd because I keep randomly deciding to begin posting my fics and I get too excited to send them to my beta. I'm an awful author.

_Prison gates won't open up for me_

_On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'_

_Oh, I reach for you_

_Well I'm terrified of these four walls_

_These iron bars can't hold my soul in_

_\--'Saving me by Nickleback'_

* * *

 

 Above him, Stiles can hear the frantic heartbeats of his pack; he can hear his Alpha’s nails scrape against the wood floor as she paces back and forth. He wonders why he can smell fear in the air, why the panic of the pack is creeping underneath his skin and pulling at his muscles. His body is telling him to run, but for reasons different than he is used to.

He doesn’t know how to react to the desperation running through his Alpha’s veins. He doesn’t know how to react to the waver in the beat of her heart. He knows his pack is in danger. He knows their lives are on the line. He knows it deep in his bones, knows it down to the marrow. But what startles him is that this time it is not _his_ desperation. This time, it is not _his_ fear. This time, it is not his blood that will be spilled.

 Quiet murmurs above him break off his train of thought. Stiles tries to still the beating of his heart. He tries to decipher the hushed words, the source behind their anxiety. He manages to make out the words “ _Alpha pack”._

 Stiles doesn’t know what that means. It’s spoken like a curse, like the devil wrapped up in two words. It is the threat to his pack; it is their imminent killer. He mouths the words to himself, feels a shiver of pleasure run up his spine. _Alpha pack_ , he thinks, _Savior._

Outside, the air shifts and crackles. His Alpha growls out a low warning, and the pack quiets. Stiles strains against his chains. His savior is here.

A beat of silence passes before the air reverberates with the roars of his pack. His muscles twitch underneath his skin as he fights back the urge to shift along with the rest of them. He can almost feel the way their bones crack and rearrange to conform to the wolves’ body. He pulls his wrist forward, testing the strength of his shackles, but it’s no use. A howl breaks through the vibrating growls above him and he knows that the battle has begun. Vicious snarls erupt from both of the packs upstairs. He can hear the sound of claws tearing into fur and flesh. He can hear the sound of jaws locking over pulse points and airways. Stiles own claws erupt from the skin of his fingers and he lets out a low whine. His plea goes unheard, though, and he is left to rot away in the basement.

He can feel a heaviness pulling at the back of his eyes, strangling his consciousness the longer the battle goes on. His pack is weakening and their power is being sucked out through his veins. His head lolls forward as he tries to keep himself focused, but the darkness already has it’s nails embedded in the veins of his eyes. Hours seem to pass by as he balances on the edge of light and dark. His alpha’s mournful howl breaks through the fog in his mind and he manages to lift up his head to release one of his own. He is ignored, forgotten and his belly tightens at the idea of a chained death.

Something shifts in the air and the hair on the back of his neck rises. Above him, there is the unmistakable stench of smoke and burning flesh. Pained howls fill the sweltering house and his Alpha lets out her last cry. A sickly silence wraps around the flames and Stiles can feel the heat and smoke begin to suffocate him. He struggles against his shackles, tries to escape from the flames threatening to devour him. His bones creak against his effort, but he refuses to give in. The smoke slips through the cracks of the basement door and Stiles can feel it begin to creep into his lungs. He won’t have much longer left until it suffocates him. He tugs harder at his restraints and tries to hold his breath. He can’t breathe it in; it’s the poison that will surely end his life.

Above him, the house is silent save for the sounds of crackling fire and sizzling skin. He focuses on the heat searing away at his own flesh and musters up whatever strength he has left within him. When he pulls once more, the shackles let out a groan of protest before breaking apart. He lands in a heap on the floor, struggling to breathe through the smoke and ash. His claws retract into his fingers and he forces himself to stand up. His lungs are aching and burning, but he has to get out. He has to live because this is freedom; this is what he has been waiting for all along.

~~~

When Stiles wakes up, there are broken chains hanging from his wrists and blood dripping down his lips. Behind him, the fire is still burning.  Pain rushes through his veins and he squeezes his eyes shut. Behind his eyelids, he can see the faces of his burnt pack mates frozen in fear and rage. He can see the teeth in their open mouths, stained with blood and singed flesh. He can see the blankness in their eyes, the fire reflecting off of the iris. His eyes snap open and he howls out in agony.  

 

No one answers.

~~~

By nightfall, Stiles has finally reached the edge of his pack’s territory. He swivels his head to look back, but there are no golden eyes watching him go. He is free, yet he cannot stop the ache deep in his bones.

He knows it is because part of him doesn’t want to leave. Part of him is still chained in the basement, skin turning to ash with the rest of the pack. He forces himself to step forward over the boundary and the bond breaks with a final snap. A cold, empty feeling expands in his chest, and when he steps back, he doesn’t feel safe anymore.

With one last echoing howl, he surges into the woods, following wherever the moon will lead him.

~~~

“Derek, we, uh. We found something.” Scott says over the phone, and if it weren’t for the fear in his voice and the panic seeping through the bond, Derek wouldn’t have acted as quickly.

“Stay there.” He orders before shoving his phone in his jean’s pocket and slipping on a jacket. He feels Erica and Boyd through the bond nearby, and whistles for them to follow at a distance. He has to be prepared. Isaac slips out from between a few trees and jogs beside him. Jackson is nowhere to be seen, so Derek assumes he must be with Scott, and picks up his speed.

When the pack arrives, Scott is knelt down beside an amber-colored wolf, hand stroking through the fur in smooth movements. It’s barely breathing, chest rising and falling with obvious effort. There’s a chain collar wrapped around its throat, silver spikes digging into skin and fur. Derek growls and Scott skids back and away from the wolf in front of him. Jackson is standing a few feet away with his arms crossed and doesn’t move an inch. Derek stalks up to the body and scents the air around the he-wolf, trying to decipher whose pack he belongs to, but all he can smell is fire and ash. It startles him, puts him on edge and he can’t stop the anger that pours through the bond.

“He was just lying here and Jackson and I stumbled over him. He’s been out cold for at least twenty minutes. Nobody has come for him…I think-“

Scott abruptly stops talking when Derek looks at him with eyes bleeding red. The Alpha closes in on the wolf before scooping him up in his arms and turning around.

 “Let’s go.” He says before breaking out in a run towards the house. The pack follows without question.

 When they arrive at the house, Derek lies the wolf down on the sofa and finally notices he is caked in his own blood. He glances over at Boyd, who disappears into the kitchen to get wet towels. Scott makes a move towards the couch, but Derek stops him with another growl.

“Call Deaton. Get him over here now.” He orders, and Scott scrambles away to make the call. Jackson settles against the farthest wall and doesn’t take his eyes off of the wolf on the couch. When Boyd comes back, he hands the towels to Derek and takes a seat next to Erica on the steps leading upstairs. Derek kneels next to the wolf and gently scrubs at it’s fur, trying to get as much of the blood off as possible. The smell of fire curls around his heart and he struggles to stop his hands from shaking.

“Deaton will be here in twenty minutes.” Scott announces when he returns, tucking his phone into his back pocket. Derek nods and backs away from the unknown wolf.

“Where do you think he’s from?” Isaac questions quietly. Derek shakes his head before looking away.

“Maybe Allison would know. If anything, their family would keep tabs on the packs that are nearby.” Scott pipes up, already pulling out his phone.

“No. We don’t know how the Argents will react to having yet another werewolf in Beacon Hills,” Derek says, “it’s best if we keep this under wraps for now. I don’t want this blown out of proportion.”

Scott pouts but nods anyways, and Isaac scoots closer and leans a shoulder against his momentarily.

When Deaton arrives, he doesn’t bother knocking. He appears beside Derek like a ghost and it startles the Alpha into a predatory crouch.

“This is the wolf you found.” Deaton observes, ignoring Derek’s red eyes. He approaches the amber wolf and skims his hands over its body. Derek takes a place beside the vet, watching every move he makes.

“No broken bones, no internal damage. He’s malnourished, though, sickly. With luck, he should wake up within the hour. I’ll stay until he does, just to make sure.” Deaton says before standing back up. Derek nods and leads him to the kitchen, the pack following close behind. Boyd and Erica hang back to keep an eye on the wolf.

“Scott found him in the woods, a mile out from here to the north. He was covered in blood. And I can smell fire on him.” Derek explains, taking a seat at the table with Deaton.

“There are several packs surrounding the Beacon Hills territory. Almost all of them are quite isolated and fend off outsiders. Unfortunately, this means I don’t have solid information of their exact whereabouts and pack numbers.” Deaton says, folding his hands together in front of him, “What I do know is that the packs are loyal. Meaning, something disastrous must have happened for this wolf to end up in your territory. We can only assume the worst--death.”

“Death?” Scott gapes, “But—who--?”

“I’m not sure. It could have been hunters. Or perhaps another pack looking for new territory to claim.”

“Could the Argents have been involved if it were hunters?” Isaac asks, shooting a quick glance to Scott, who tenses up at the question.

“No. The Argents have been laying low. There hasn’t been any activity from them in months.” Scott lets out a breath of relief and silence wraps around the house.

“Derek.” Erica calls from the living room, “I think-“ A loud snarl cuts her off and Derek knocks over his chair to get to her.

When he enters the room, Erica is crouched beside the couch, glaring at the wolf that has gravitated to the corner of the room. Deaton clears his throat and the she-wolf backs away to stand beside Boyd. He lays a hand on her arm and her eyes fade to brown again. Deaton steps forward and holds out a hand. The wolf cocks its head but the growling grows quieter.

“You are safe now. We wish you no harm.” Deaton says calmly, staring straight into glowing, gold eyes. His heartbeat does not waver and Derek is surprised when the growling stops all together. Ever so slowly, the wolf slinks out of the corner, closer to the hand being offered.

“That’s it. It’s okay.” At those words, the wolf closes the distance between the two and pushes it’s head into Deaton’s hand. Boyd looks to Derek with a raised eyebrow, but Derek only stare with quiet surprise.

“Derek, if you could-” Deaton glances purposefully at the wolves surrounding them, “It would be quite helpful.”

Derek nods once and flicks red eyes to Erica, Scott, and Jackson. Scott and Jackson glower unhappily, but Erica drags them out of the house with clawed hands. Isaac and Boyd retreat to the kitchen. Derek’s attention returns to the two on the floor before him when Deaton begins talking again.

“You were found in the woods on the Hale pack territory. Derek, the Alpha of the pack, carried you back to his home to make sure you were okay.” Deaton explains quietly, running his hands over the wolves’ body. It looks to Derek with now-amber eyes and eases away from Deaton’s hands.

 Derek stands rigid as the wolf approaches him and he can feel Isaac and Boyd tense up in the kitchen. When the wolf is barely six inches from touching him, it tilts its head back in a sign of submission. Derek’s eyes bleed red and he growls out an acknowledgement. Still, though, the wolf does not move and Derek looks helplessly up at Deaton. The veterinarian, though, is staring at the wolf, eyebrows pulled together in confusion and concern. A long, tense silence pans out when nothing happens, and finally the wolf in front of him whines long and low. Something inside of Derek tenses up and Deaton is suddenly there, a hand on the wolf’s flank.

“Would you shift? It would be quite…helpful if we could talk, face to face.” He says calmly, and Derek tries not to let out a breathe of relief when the wolf bows it’s head in acceptance and follows Deaton into the downstairs guest bedroom.

Derek shakes his head before heading into the kitchen, where Isaac and Boyd automatically attempt to look much too relaxed. Derek sneers and Isaac smiles innocently.

“Are you okay?” Boyd asks and Derek tenses up again. Isaac’s smile falters but Derek doesn’t try to reassure him.

“That wolf…there’s something not right about it.” Derek finally says after a long silence.  

“Well, yeah. We found him collapsed in the middle of the woods covered in his own blood.” Isaac snorts, but shuts up when Derek glares.

“No. I meant…”

“The way he tried to submit to you.” Boyd finishes, and Derek nods. Isaac just looks confused. Nobody tries to explain it and Isaac’s unasked questions are cut off when Deaton enters the kitchen. Everybody sucks in a breath when the wolf from before follows close behind in its half-dressed human form.

“Derek, Boyd, Isaac. This is Stiles. Stiles, this is Derek, Boyd, and Isaac. The rest of the pack will return shortly.” Deaton says.

The three just stare instead of saying anything in response. The wolf, Stiles, is lithe and pale, with big, soft amber eyes and oversized hands. His hair is dark and unruly, sticking out at random angles and his lips are red and slightly pouty. He’s…beautiful. The wounds from the collar are slowly fading away, and when Derek looks to Deaton, he nods slightly. Wolfsbane.

What really startles them, though, are the scars.

 Stile’s chest is littered with burn scars and long, jagged claw marks stretching around his ribs towards his back. Derek knows that it is next to nearly impossible to leave scars on a werewolf. He knows it can only be done through continuous damage to the tissue and muscle. Isaac barely contains a whimper and Boyd lays a hand on his shoulder to steady him. Stiles shies behind Deaton, eyes darting from face to face and Derek finally manages to make his mouth work.

“Stiles.” He greets and holds out a hand. The boy cocks his head but slowly emerges from behind Deaton’s back.

 Derek doesn’t drop his hand and simply stares at the boy, waiting for him to come closer. He can see Deaton watching Stiles out of the corner of his eye as well. The werewolf closes in, but instead of taking his hand, he drops down to his knees and bares his neck again. Derek lets out a growl and Boyd and Isaac step back.

“What are you doing.” Derek says through fanged teeth. Stiles doesn’t look up, nor does he say a word. He just tilts his head to the side more, and Derek spots the dark, brown moles dancing down his neck and back.

“Stiles, come here.” Deaton orders, and to everyone’s surprise, he stands up and returns to the vet’s side.

His expression is closed off, cold and empty and it leaves a sick feeling deep in Derek’s gut. He feels like he should say something, do something, but he doesn’t know what. His wolf is scratching at his bones, trying to relay a message with its sharp claws, but he can’t decipher it.

There’s a tense silence for a few moments before the rest of the pack cautiously steps into the kitchen. Erica begins to growl but it cuts off the moment her eyes take in the scars scattered across Stiles skin and without warning she’s sweeping forward and pulling him into her arms. There’s sorrow and grief and confusion seeping through the pack bond and Derek has to force himself to not move forward and join them, to comfort both Stiles and Erica, even if Stiles isn’t pack. At least, not yet.

And that’s when he decides it. Stiles _will_ be pack because Erica won’t let go, even though Stiles has frozen still against her, because Isaac won’t stop tracking his every move, because Scott is whining low and soft, because Jackson can barely look at him without a tenseness crawling up his spine, because Boyd’s eyes are dark and unforgiving and full of protection.

He meets Deaton’s eye across the room and the man nods once, sharp and sure.

* * *

Here's my [tumblr](http://void-nogitsune.tumblr.com)\--come say hi and hang out with me :D 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek slides forward and places his other hand underneath Stiles muzzle and gently raises his head until they are face-to-face.  
> “Stiles. You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m your alpha.” Derek says, but realizes he’s got it all wrong when Stiles jerks back out of his grip. He doesn’t try to reach for him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Scott :D

_Nights without end seem to bleed into days_

_Try to forget that it turned out this way_

_I wear the mark of the permanent stain_

_Not accidentally, I cursed God’s good name_

_- **Summers Lost by Hurt**_

* * *

 

 

When the moon rises in the dark sky, Deaton stands from his seat at the kitchen table and pulls on his jacket.

“I should be heading out now. I will return in the morning, Stiles. Alpha Hale and his pack will take care of you until then.” He says with a soft smile.

Stiles perks up from where he’s been napping on the couch, wolf ears twitching forward. He stands up to shake himself out before trotting towards Deaton.

“Stiles, no. You must stay here. I have no place for a werewolf where I live.” The vet explains calmly, crouching down to scratch underneath Stiles’ belly.

Stiles whines mournfully before dropping down in submission. Deaton’s once friendly smile turns brittle at the edges. He glances up to Derek and leaves before the alpha has a chance to utter a word.

The house is suddenly too big and too quiet. Erica and Isaac are lounging in the living room, peering into the main foyer with curiosity and worry. Boyd and Jackson are nowhere to be seen, but Scott steps up behind Derek and lays a warm palm on his shoulder.

“I’ll stay here tonight.” He says, glancing at Stiles meaningfully.

The young wolf has edged himself against the door, looking like a caged and wild animal. His eyes are glowing gold again, fangs bared. There’s mistrust in the lines of his muscles and Derek fears he’ll leap and be gone forever. He forces himself to take a deep breath and drops into a crouch.

“Stiles,” Derek says carefully, “You’ll be sleeping here tonight. Let me show you to the guest room.”

Stiles doesn’t make a move. Derek sighs in frustration and Stiles ends up pressing himself further to the ground, ears drooping slightly. Scott nudges him in the side and whispers, “Dude.”

“I won’t hurt you, Stiles. We just want to help you.” Derek says quietly. He holds out his hand and waits patiently until ever so slowly, Stiles begins to inch forward. It seems like it takes ages before his wet muzzle is pressing against the palm of Derek’s hand.

“That’s good. See? It’s alright,” Derek says, ears turning red at the tips when Stiles licks at his fingers and whines, “Let’s get you to the guest room, okay?”

Stiles ears flick in acknowledgement and he follows Derek obediently to the room. When they get there, though, he stops in front of the bed and cocks his head to the side in confusion and looks to Derek questioningly.

“This is your room, now. You can sleep here tonight.” Derek explains, nodding towards the queen-sized bed. Stiles, however, doesn’t make a move. His eyes have begun to shift back and forth suspiciously and his tail has swept back underneath his belly. Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and forces himself to take a deep breath.

“Okay, look. You don’t have to sleep on the bed if you don’t want to, but it’s there in case you change your mind. It’s been a long day, so get some rest.” He says before awkwardly backing away and shutting the door. He sighs and leans against the wall outside of Stiles room and startles when he realizes Erica and Isaac are across the hall watching him with golden eyes.

“What?” He snaps, lip rising in a snarl. Erica snarls back.

“I don’t think he should sleep alone. He doesn’t feel safe, Derek. Can’t you see that?” She says heatedly. Isaac crosses his arms over his chest. Derek feels like he might have an aneurism.

“What do you want me to do about it? He’s better off if he’s by himself tonight instead of being surrounded by wolves he isn’t familiar with. I’m the alpha, don’t second guess me.” He growls before spinning on his heel and locking himself in his room. He paces around restlessly before settling in his bed.

That night, he dreams of blazing fires and amber eyes glinting amongst fallen ashes.

~~~

They find Stiles in the basement the next morning. He’s curled up in a ball on the cold pavement in a damp corner next to the water pump. He’s shivering lightly and his limbs are twitching erratically. Erica is the first one to make a move after the initial shock has passed. She whines mournfully and shifts into her wolf form before slinking forward and settling herself against Stiles’ side. Isaac is quick to follow. Scott looks to Derek before shaking his head and shifting as well, and now it’s just Derek, Boyd, and Jackson standing watch.

“Derek…” Boyd mutters, fingers twitching into a fist at his side. He opens his mouth and closes it again, words failing him.

“We’ll leave them for now. Come on.” Derek eventually says, ripping his gaze away from the amber wolf surrounded by his pack. Boyd follows him up the stairs and he’s surprised to see that Jackson hasn’t followed.

Deaton appears in the kitchen not too long after Derek and Boyd have set to making breakfast.

“He’s not in his room.” The vet says, a tinge of disappointment souring his words. Derek forces himself not to look away. He feels like he has failed at something essential, something important.

“He’s—in the basement.” Derek says haltingly. He struggles to get the words out because Deaton is watching him with sparks in his eyes and it sets his wolf on edge. He still remembers the smell of burning wood and flesh and failure.

“Take me to him.”

Derek nods and flashes red eyes to Boyd who sets his shoulders and returns to work in the kitchen. Deaton follows him quietly down the basement stairs and Derek doesn’t have to be a werewolf to hear his sharp intake of breath.

Erica has draped herself over Stiles protectively, Isaac is curled around his flank, Scott is pressed against his side, and Jackson has his snout pressed up against Stiles’. It sets Derek’s heart thumping and his bones itch with the need to shift and join them, join his pack, his family. He holds himself back, though, and calmly waits for Deaton to assess the situation.

The older man takes a step forward, but Jackson lifts his head with a guttural growl that shakes even Derek down to his core. Deaton, however, simply smiles before backing away. He looks Derek up and down approvingly before clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“It looks like the pup is in good hands.” He says and Derek feels something like pride swell up in his chest. He glances back at his pack curled around Stiles like a safety blanket.

“Yes, I think he is.”

~~~

Derek is in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee along with Boyd and Deaton when Stiles wakes up. He nearly drops the mug when he hears a sharp snarl and growl and the sounds of the rest of his pack whining. He pushes away from the table sharply, knocking his chair over in his haste. Deaton is close behind him.

When they descend the basement stairs, Stiles is facing the pack, hackles raised and fangs bared. Jackson and Scott have retreated to the far side of the basement in an attempt to give the werewolf some space, but Isaac and Erica are trying to press closer. Derek growls out a warning and his two betas try to fight against the bond before hesitantly slinking away. Stiles doesn’t stop growling and there’s flames burning in his gaze.

Derek’s heart is thumping away in his chest and he clenches his jaw, gears turning in his head. Deaton is silent beside him. When nobody makes a move, Stiles begins to inch forward, swiftly and silently. Derek panics because he’s trying to run away, trying to escape and his wolf roars in retaliation. He’s shifted before he even realizes it.

Stiles stops dead in his tracks and looks up at Derek with flattened ears. There’s fear and apprehension in his gaze, but Derek pays no heed to that. He closes in on Stiles and presses his body against Stiles’ own shivering one. He nuzzles his snout against the top of Stiles’ head and licks at one of his flattened ears. He realizes belatedly that the snarling has quieted to a low rumble.

Stiles twitches one ear back before tilting his head to the side in submission. Derek’s wolf keens happily and he lightly clamps his teeth over smooth tendons. It’s not enough to break skin, barely a touch at all, but it’s enough for his wolf. He backs away and shakes himself out. Stiles is staring at him curiously but this time not with fear. This time, it’s with something akin to respect.

Deaton steps up beside him and lays a hand between his shoulder blades.

He knows that it’s the first steps of acceptance.

~~~

It’s difficult to get Stiles to stay in his human form. He wears his wolf like it’s his home and Derek doesn’t like it. Pack is home, but Stiles doesn’t think he’s pack so he stays wrapped up in fur and presses himself into dark corners, eyeing his surroundings wearily.

Deaton stops by as much as he can to help with the process and sometimes it works, but sometimes it doesn’t. Today is one of the days where it doesn’t.

Stiles is backed against the bathroom wall, fangs bared and eyes glowing bright gold. He’s beautiful as a wolf too, beautiful in whichever skin he wears, no matter how feral or furred. He’s sleek and smooth, with pelt the color of whiskey, and Derek wants to run his hands through it, sooth away the pain of ghost scars and ghost knives, but Stiles flinches away and growls low and long.

Deaton is crouched in front of him, a hand held out cautiously. He’s murmuring softly, eyes warm and bright. He’s the embodiment of trust and safety, but Stiles won’t stop snarling and presses himself further back. Erica pushes in beside Derek and he glares at her because she was supposed to stay out, but she doesn’t even falter. She follows Stiles around like a shadow, can barely stand being eight feet away from him, and Isaac isn’t too far behind.

At first, Stiles had run from them. It was obvious that he wasn’t used to being around other wolves that weren’t his old pack and it alarmed him to suddenly have a new pack pressing in so close to him, boxing him in and suffocating him. But that’s what their wolves needed, otherwise the howling would never stop. Keeping their distance was nearly as hard as stopping the shift on a full moon.

But then somewhere along the way, Stiles had stopped trying to slip away from them. It was in small increments--like letting Erica lay down next to him in a sunspot on the floor without bolting or listening to Scott talk his ear off instead of snapping and snarling. It wasn’t much, but it was something and it helped ease all of their wolves.

Derek’s eyes snap forward when he realizes that Erica has slipped past Deaton and is advancing on Stiles, whose growling revs up. Derek takes a step forward, but Deaton holds out an arm and shakes his head. He wants to push him aside, get him out and away, but he stamps down on his instincts and watches anxiously as Erica finally approaches Stiles.

She doesn’t hesitate in her movements, just opens herself up to him, bears everything for him, and takes his jaw in her hands. She says, “Stiles, you are pack now,” and presses her nose to his wet muzzle.

Derek’s fingers twitch while he watches and he can feel Isaac pressing in behind him, leaning over his shoulder to peek in. Scott and the rest of the pack are closing in as well and it can’t work like this, not in such a small, enclosed space, not with so many people, but despite that, Stiles’ eyes fade back to brown and the growling quiets.

Deaton stands up from his crouch and quietly leaves the bathroom and Isaac pushes into the space he had just occupied. Erica is smoothing a hand down Stiles neck and she presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. His ears are twitching back and forth and Derek can smell how nervous he is, how anxious and confused, so it comes as a surprise when he...rumbles happily. And that’s really the only way Derek can describe it because it isn’t a growl, it isn’t laced with malice, but with content and warmth.

Erica squeals and peppers kisses all over his face and scratches him behind the ear and then Isaac is diving forward and running his hands down Stiles flanks and Derek has to hold himself up on the counter because Stiles is opening up and it makes Derek’s wolf so fucking ecstatic that he can practically feel it trying to vibrate straight out of his skin.

He backs out of the bathroom and sits on the couch as the rest of the pack crowds into the bathroom. Deaton is gone, nowhere to be seen and Derek has a feeling that he won’t be coming back for awhile.

~~~

 When Derek comes home from the store, Stiles is waiting by the door with his tongue lolling. He trots up to Derek and takes a few bags in between his teeth and pads off to the kitchen. He jumps up and sets his front paws on the counter before setting the bags down carefully and then he returns to Derek’s side.

There’s hardly a moment where he isn’t doing something for them. Whether it be bringing them food or turning off all the lights after them or even sometimes making dinner in his human skin, he’s always there, always making sure they have what they need and what they want.

It’s nice at first, but something is off and Derek can’t tell what and he doesn’t know how to ask, so he lets Stiles do what he wants and tries to ignore the way his wolf whines at the boy’s timid obedience.

They don’t notice it’s a problem until something breaks loose in Stiles.

~~~

“Jackson, duck!” Erica screams, dodging to the left to try to tackle him to the ground. She’s too late, though, and Derek’s claws have already sunken into the delicate skin of Jackson’s stomach.

He skids and yelps, falling to a heap on the ground. The pack is a frenzy after that, the two split sides howling out battle cries and tearing into each other. Erica goes straight for Derek, clips his forearm with her claws and watches him lose his footing.

Isaac rounds on her, tackles her to the ground and poises his fangs over her throat. She whines in submission and then huffs in his face when he chortles at her. Not too long after, Boyd falls as well with a vicious growl. Scott is leaning over him, a wolfish grin curving around his too-sharp fangs.

The basement is a mess of blood and fur and it takes them all a while to regain their footing. They don’t notice Stiles is there until he’s pressed up against Jackson, eyes glowing gold. He’s in his human skin this time and he gently lays his hands on the already-healing wound on Jackson’s stomach and starts to leach away his pain.

“Stiles, you don’t need to-“ Jackson breaks off on a relieved groan when Stiles pulls at his pain more, a thin sheen of sweat already beading on his forehead.

Derek feels something tighten in his chest at the sight of Stiles in pain, whether it’s from his own wounds or second-hand from someone else’s. He doesn’t like it, can’t help but to remember the silver scars dancing over his body and the collar that dug into his throat.

He stalks over to Stiles and wraps a hand around his arm.

“Stiles, stop.” Derek orders, eyes glowing red without him being fully conscious of it. Stiles bristles and growls.

“Alpha wound.” He grits out, veins darkening over his pale skin. He’s taking in far too much pain. A normal wolf would have passed out by that point but Stiles, he’s just…

“Stiles, you need to stop. You are going to hurt yourself.” Derek says, pulling at Stiles arm against his better instincts. He doesn’t flinch back when Stiles rounds on him, fangs dropped.

There’s a fire in his eyes that blazes too hot before something in him breaks down. It happens within a split second—one moment he’s about to tear into Derek’s skin and the next he’s pressed against the far wall of the basement. He’s whimpering and shaking and Derek feels something like dread fill his gut.

He takes a step towards the boy, but Jackson is pushing him back, eyes burning icy blue. Derek watches as Jackson approaches Stiles slowly, one hand pressed to the nearly healed wound on his side.

“It’s okay if you want to-“ Jackson nods down at his wound, “That’s alright.”

Stiles eyes snap to Derek’s and a shudder wracks his body. And that’s when it hits him.

It was his alpha.

Derek can’t help the whimper that escapes his lips and then Isaac and Scott are there, pressing up against him. Stiles is still looking at him, but this time there is concern laced with fear and Derek can’t-he can’t-

“Derek?” Scott calls after him, but Derek can’t hear anything over the rush of his own blood and the sound of his bones snapping as he shifts into his wolf.

~~~

       He doesn’t come back until night has fallen. He’s covered in leaves and mud and his own dried blood. He can’t bring himself to shift back into his human skin, so he slinks into the house as a wolf and avoids his pack’s worried stares.

       Stiles is in his wolf form as well, curled up around Jackson, protective. It almost makes Derek sick. Golden eyes meet his red ones and before he realizes it, Stiles is pressing up against him. He noses at Derek’s superficial wounds, whines pitifully and licks at Derek’s muzzle. Derek recoils with a snarl. He doesn’t want this from Stiles. He doesn’t want this forced submission. It’s terrifying because he doesn’t want to take advantage of the boy and he doesn’t want to hurt him. Derek wants to help him live.

       Stiles backs away from Derek, ears pressed flat against his skull. His tail has swept beneath his rear and he’s baring his neck again in submission. Derek wants to bite into the thick tendons there, wants to mark Stiles as pack again, but he forces the alpha’s instinct back into the cage of his ribs and shifts into human skin.

       Stiles doesn’t move or make a sound as Derek approaches him slowly. He’s trembling, though, and Derek nearly shifts and bolts, but he doesn’t want to upset Stiles anymore than he already has. He stretches out a hand and hesitantly lays it between the juncture of jaw and neck. He can feel the quick, rabbit-like thump of Stiles heart, can feel the blood flowing and rushing like a broken dam.

       Derek slides forward and places his other hand underneath Stiles muzzle and gently raises his head until they are face-to-face.

       “Stiles. You don’t need to be afraid of me. I’m your alpha.” Derek says, but realizes he’s got it all wrong when Stiles jerks back out of his grip. He doesn’t try to reach for him again.

       “I meant,” Derek rubs a hand back through his greasy hair, “I meant that I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you. I’m here to protect you. We all are. We’re pack.”

       Stiles doesn’t look at him again and doesn’t make any moves to get closer. His heart, however, slows to a smoother beat and the trembling resides and it’s something.

       It’s something.

* * *

Come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://www.void-nogitsune.tumblr.com)! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the promised second chapter! I posted it a night earlier because Kiley was all "DO IT NOOOAAAWWWW" and I love her to pieces even though we legit just met like 3 days ago WE HAVE A SPIRITUAL CONNECTION SHHH hhhhh . Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this one.  
> This is for you, Kiley! :D  
> Also the third chapter is probably going to be a bit delayed because I work 6 days in a row and I have a wedding coming up (not for me, thank fuck) so I'll be super busy and probably very unmotivated to write. I'll still try to get a chapter out before a week passes, but sorry if it's a little late in advance! Arigatou.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In his sleep, Stiles is still chained to basement walls, still seconds away from going up in flames. His Alpha is alive in his head; she watches him with eyes the color of blood. He calls out to her, tries to reach out a hand, but the chains are bound too tightly around his wrists for him to move. She raises her lips in a snarl and her fangs glint in the light. There’s singed flesh hanging off of her bloody lips--the skin of their pack--and Stiles feels something twist like a sharp-edged knife in his stomach. It’s fear and shame and the loss of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: PLEASE READ THIS SERIOUSLY GUYS IT'S VERY IMPORTANT.   
> This chapter is very different than my first two chapters-mainly because we are now in Stiles' head again and it's a little...(a lot) fucked up from his past.  
> We are going to get tiny glimpses at his past, but they are very violent and gory. So for anyone who is easily triggered by mental/emotional/physical abuse and depictions of detailed violence, please either do not read this chapter or do not continue reading this story.  
> Thank you!  
> Also this is un-beta'ed, so all mistakes are mine.

_Softly stop my evil dreams_   
_Faster, help me fall asleep_   
_No one knows that’s how it goes,_   
_All the thoughts that we transpose._

- **Transpose by Bad Suns**

* * *

 

 In his sleep, Stiles is still chained to basement walls, still seconds away from going up in flames.  His Alpha is alive in his head; she watches him with eyes the color of blood. He calls out to her, tries to reach out a hand, but the chains are bound too tightly around his wrists for him to move. She raises her lips in a snarl and her fangs glint in the light. There’s singed flesh hanging off of her bloody lips _\--the skin of their pack_ \--and Stiles feels something twist like a sharp-edged knife in his stomach. It’s fear and shame and the loss of hope.

 The flames are dancing up his ankles now and his feet are burnt ashes, yet still, his Alpha does not make a move. She watches with an eerie calm as invisible flames lick up Stiles’ body. He refuses to scream because he knows that’s exactly what she wants. It’s her very own lullaby, but Stiles won’t help her sleep tonight.

 He grits his teeth against the unbearable pain that’s washing through him, but he can’t help but to whimper for her over and over and over again. There’s a bond between them that he can never let go of. It’s a bond that’s been etched into his skin with silver knives and stolen lives.

 She takes a step forward and he lifts his head to watch her slow advance. She stops a few centimeters in front of him and leans forward to press a heated kiss against his cheek. The skin is cool and clammy where her lips have pressed against him and he thinks that her kiss is death itself. He murmurs out another plea.

 She doesn’t answer. Instead, she leans down to pick up a thick, silver-spiked collar. He smells the mountain ash that it is infused with and he jerks his head away. Almost his entire torso has been burned away, by now. She smiles softly at him, almost like a mother would, and he holds still as she wraps the collar around his neck and clasps it on.

He wakes up screaming.

It’s been nearly two weeks of waking up in Derek’s basement, two weeks of dreams of death and blood-curdling screams. He tries to slow the beating of his heart but the memory of broken skin and pain is still flowing through the nerves in his brain and he whimpers softly.

Somebody shifts next to him and he nearly startles out of his skin, even though he should be used to being surrounded by his new pack by now. An arm wraps around his midsection and tugs him closer and he lets himself be moved silently, even though every muscle in his body has tensed.

“Nightmare?” Isaac murmurs from behind him.

Stiles tries to relax against his arm, but he feels closed in. He feels trapped in a memory that’s dead and gone.  He takes a few deep breathes instead of answering. He never knows quite what to say after all this time. He doesn’t know how to reassure the others that it’s all right because he doesn’t even know how to reassure himself. There’s a phantom living inside him with red eyes and blood-tipped knives.

Stiles feels like he’s been losing himself inside his head, feels like there’s a countdown beneath his skull and when it reaches zero, he’ll de-construct. He doesn’t say this to the pack, though, because he knows it will only cause them pain. Sometimes, he feels like that’s all he ever does.

Isaac sighs against the back of his neck and Stiles struggles against the phantom feeling of hands wrapped around his throat. He tries to focus on the beating heart behind him, but the ghosts in his head are clawing against his skeleton and he can’t focus.

He tries to squirm out of Isaac’s grip, but the boy won’t nudge. Stiles growls out a warning, eyes flashing gold in the dark. Isaac finally unwinds his arms from around Stiles’ body and sits up to give him space. Stiles’ presses himself against the cool wall behind him and focuses on breathing evenly.

“Stiles, let me help you.” Isaac says, leaning forward to press a hand against Stiles’ sweaty temple. Stiles snaps at his wrist and then turns his face away.

“I’m…sorry, I-“ He stutters out, halting when Isaac shakes his head.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Let me go get you a glass of water.” He says before standing up and disappearing up the stairs. Stiles breathes out a sigh of relief and curls into a ball before retreating inside his own mind.

~~~

When Stiles blinks open his eyes, he’s on his hands and knees before his Alpha. She has a silver whip in her gloved hand and her eyes glint eerily in the moonlight. She’s saying something to him, but he can’t hear her over the rush of blood in his head. He tries to stand up, but as soon as he lifts himself, the whip comes cracking down on his shoulder blade. He screams in agony before falling onto his forearms.

There’s a tidal wave of pain erupting through his muscles and bones and he grits his teeth against it, just like he was trained to do. His Alpha is still speaking and he tries his best to focus on the sound of her voice.

“-rotten, disgusting, vermin. You are _dirt_ , do you hear me Stiles?” Her voice filters through his head and he cringes at the distaste in her voice. She hates him, and his wolf whimpers pathetically as she continues to speak.

“I’m going to pick you apart and remake you. You’ll be the perfect specimen. You will be my second in command--my little pet. Do you like the sound of that?” She asks. She presses the silver whip against the shallow cut in his shoulder and he focuses on the feeling of the cold steel.

“Please.” He tells her. _Please_ , he thinks, _anything but this._

Her murderous grin softens at the edges, almost as if she is pleased, and his wolf fluffs up at the change in her demeanor.

“Good boy. Now tell me you are dirt. Tell me you are nothing.” She demands.

Stiles hesitates, because he doesn’t want to be nothing. He wants to be everything to her. He wants to be the best. He wants her to love him, to care for him, to treat him like he means something.

The whip cracks across his spine and he howls before he has a chance to mute himself. The grin on her face falls completely. He closes his eyes in shame and waits for the silver to make contact with his flesh again. The pain never comes.

Instead, his Alpha walks away. It’s nearly worse than the agony of the whip slicing through his skin.

~~~

The next time Stiles wakes up, there’s sunlight streaming through the tiny basement windows and there is a glass of water sitting a few feet away from him. He cracks the bones in his body slowly before crawling over to pick up the cup. He glances around, but his new pack isn’t there. Something cold and hollow fills his belly and he stands up too quickly. Dizziness washes over his sight, but he stumbles forward anyways and rushes upstairs.

Derek’s house is quiet and empty, not a heartbeat to be heard. Stiles feels panic begin to seize up between his ribs and he grabs at the nearest wall to stop himself from collapsing. He tries to clear his mind but the ghosts inside are rampaging beneath his skull. His claws push out of his fingertips and his fangs elongate inside his mouth.

There are tears in his eyes and he realizes that he doesn’t want to be alone. He wants to be apart of this new pack, with wolves that surround him with warmth and a sense of belonging. He wants to stay with Derek, who promises not to hurt him, not ever. He doesn’t want to be abandoned, not again. Not _again_.

He lets out a long, mournful howl before passing out.

~~~

“--I’m worried for his state of mind. You said his nightmares have been getting worse?” A voice asks from very, very far away. Stiles tries to open his eyes, but his lids feel like bricks and his ears feel like they are filled with thick cotton. He strains his ears to hear the voices whispering around him.

“Yes. Every night he’s screaming and sometimes he’ll start to claw at himself. We try to help, but…” A second voice trails off and then there’s a deep sigh, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help him stop suffering. And then today the pack went for a run early in the morning and when we came back he was-“

“You left him alone?” The first voice cuts off the second sharply. A long silence stretches through the room and Stiles feels himself slowly begin to lose consciousness again.

~~~

“Stiles, come.” His Alpha demands. Her eyes flash red and the wolf inside of him cowers.

There’s a thick, chained collar tightened around his throat and attached to it is a long, silver leash. His Alpha yanks him forward by the leash with one, swift movement of her wrist. He chokes slightly before stumbling forward. The collar lets up on his throat and he takes a deep, lungful of air.

In front of them are the weakest and youngest members of the pack, barely sixteen years in age. They stand dutifully before their Alpha, heads bowed in submission. Stiles envies their freedom; he envies their bodies that know nothing of shackles and chains.

His Alpha lays a hand on his head and drags her fingers slowly through his thick, unruly hair. He preens beneath her, a purr rising in his throat against his will. His pack mates watch on silently, but their eyes give away their hate and mistrust. He does not blame them.

“Stiles,” His Alpha whispers to him. He looks up into her glowing, red eyes, “Kill.”

She reaches towards him and unclips the leash from his collar. He turns back to his pack mates to drink in their bloodlust and sudden fear before he leaps towards them. They meet him head on and when their claws meet his skin, it’s not pain he feels, but pleasure.

Stiles smiles around his fangs and watches the way their faces contort in pain when he spills their blood. He watches the way they scream while he steals away the lives they have lived so shortly. He can feel his Alpha’s presence behind them, can feel her own satisfaction and pleasure swimming through her veins. He’s never felt closer to her.

There’s a constant buzzing underneath his skin, almost like the murder inside of him is trying to break loose, trying to burst free from beneath his flesh and manifest in a world where there is nothing but pain and death and destruction.

He rips into the muscles of his pack mates, rips until his claws meet bone, and even then, he does not stop. They are weak, his Alpha had said. They are nothing.

He clamps his jaws down on a milky pale throat, tugs until bone breaks flesh, tugs until there is no longer a throat for them to scream. He clamps his jaws down on a hand, bites clean through boney, clawed-fingers, bites until there’s nothing left but the stub of their wrists. He destroys them and decimates them, tears into them until they are nothing but waste.

When he is done, he walks back to his Alpha and allows her to clip his leash back on. She runs a hand through his hair, through the torn flesh and entrails, and briefly squeezes the back of his neck.

“Good boy, Stiles.” She says and he smiles and preens.

~~~

Stiles wakes up with phantom chains around his wrists and ankles. He panics when he moves and feels no restraints. Somebody moves beside him, and he freezes in place, pressing himself against the soft bed beneath him. A cool hand presses against his feverish forehead and he pushes against it, imagining the feeling of his Alpha’s cold, hard flesh.

“Stiles? Are you awake?” A deep voice rumbles, and just like that, Stiles snaps out of his memories.

He recoils from the hand and turns to find Derek seated beside him. He scrambles sideways in an attempt to escape, but Derek snatches his wrist and tugs him back before he falls off the bed. Stiles lowers his head in shame and stares at his hands-the hands that are made to kill and nothing more.

“Stiles, I’m sorry for leaving you alone. I didn’t-I wasn’t thinking,” Derek says. Stiles doesn’t answer, because he still remembers the ice cold feeling that had streamed through his veins at the thought of being abandoned.

Derek falls silent before he sighs and stands up. Stiles’ heart starts to beat faster because he doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to be left with the thing inside his head, doesn’t want to be left with the murder grinning beneath his skin. He doesn’t know how to say it, though, doesn’t know how to tell Derek that he’s a monster-that _he’s_ the one who should be apologizing, so he keeps quiet and turns away.

To his surprise, though, Derek doesn’t leave. He sinks down beside Stiles on the bed and hesitantly wraps an arm around both of Stiles’ shoulders. Derek is warm and feels like safety, so Stiles presses into him and tries to will away the thoughts that are eating away at his brain.

He isn’t ready to die yet, because he’s just started living.

Derek stays with him for a long time. Stiles doesn’t keep track of the seconds that tick by because he wants to stay like this forever. He wants to stay with someone who reminds him of his own humanity. He wants to stay with someone who will treat him like he isn’t a monster, like he is someone to be cared for.

It’s all he’s ever wanted.

Stiles wishes he could tell Derek how thankful he is for him and his pack, but they wouldn’t understand. Not fully, and Stiles doesn’t think he can tell them just who he is and what he does. What he _has_ done.

He tries to remind himself that the thing inside of him doesn’t control him anymore. He tries to remind himself that he no longer needs to please his former Alpha.

Stiles wants to believe that it’s okay to start anew, even if his past will always be chained to his back, even though he’s been hardwired into something that isn’t human nor monster.

He wants to believe that he still has a chance.

 

 

* * *

 

Come hang out with me [here](http://void-nogitsune.tumblr.com)!           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so so so so so so sorry for the delay. It's been nearly a month. I've been caught up in moving back to college and work and family issues, so I haven't had much time to write. And the little time I have had of freedom, I've been to tired to make my brain work correctly.  
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I will try to update more frequently if schoolwork doesn't suck out my soul before that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deaton tells them that it’s normal-that at some point, Stiles’ grief would have caught up to him. He tells them that it’s the fire that’s coming alive in his soul again and all the memories of his dead pack mates, but Derek isn’t so sure.  
> When Derek’s eyes are glowing red, Stiles will sometimes look at him like he’s hell packed into skin and bones. Sometimes, Stiles will look at him like he’s the most important person in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has not been beta'd so all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

_I felt your sickness brush against my arm as I walked by you -_   
_heard your voice but couldn't tell that it was you._   
_And, slowly, watched your sickness slip away into a place_   
_that I'd once feared but I was not afraid this time_

**-The Last Lost Continent by La Dispute**

* * *

Derek’s eyes never stray from Stiles. He watches as the boy eats and sleeps, watches as he shifts and runs. There’s something inside of Derek, something inside of his wolf, that’s warning him. Derek doesn’t know what the warning is or what it means, but he knows that there’s something off with Stiles. There has been ever since the day he collapsed.

It’s been three more days since then, three days of a suffocating silence that wraps around the house. The betas follow Stiles around like he’s a ticking bomb, and Derek doesn’t think they are too far off in their assumptions.

The boy is nearly feral again. He snarls when someone reaches out towards him, snaps at limbs that stray too close. He doesn’t shift back into his human skin and bares his teeth like they are his last hope, his only method of redemption.

It doesn’t make much sense to Derek because a week ago, Stiles pressed against the pack for comfort to sleep. A week ago, Stiles was a human five days out of seven. A week ago, Stiles didn’t look like he was hanging on the edge of something that had him reeking of grief and sorrow and guilt.

Derek doesn’t understand it because he had thought Stiles had forgiven them, forgiven _him,_ for leaving him alone for far too long. He had thought that Stiles wanted to be with them, wanted to be pack, but he isn’t so sure anymore. Not with the way that Stiles is holding them an arm’s length away. Not with the way he looks like he might bolt at any moment.

Derek can’t take his eyes off of Stiles because he doesn’t want him to leave. He _won’t_ let him leave. He’s invested too many of his emotions into the boy, and it might be the end of him, but he swears on his life that he will continue to protect Stiles-whether the boy wants it or not.

The rest of the pack seem just as determined as him. They chatter aimlessly to Stiles, even though he never talks back. They make sure he eats at least twice a day, even though he bares his teeth and growls at them. They still stay with him in the basement during the long nights, even though his screaming hardly lets them sleep.

Deaton tells them that it’s normal-that at some point, Stiles’ grief would have caught up to him. He tells them that it’s the fire that’s coming alive in his soul again and all the memories of his dead pack mates, but Derek isn’t so sure.

When Derek’s eyes are glowing red, Stiles will sometimes look at him like he’s hell packed into skin and bones. Sometimes, Stiles will look at him like he’s the most important person in the world.

It’s during those times that Derek wonders if it’s his old Alpha that Stiles is seeing in Derek’s eyes. It makes Derek want to grab him by the shoulders and hold him close and tell him that this is a new start. He wants to tell Stiles that he’s safe here, as safe as he’ll ever be, but Derek doesn’t think Stiles wants to hear that anymore. Not when the boy looks like he’s so close to tearing himself apart.  

Derek doesn’t know what happened in Stiles’ past. He doesn’t know why his Alpha abused him the way they did, but Derek figures that it doesn’t matter. He wants Stiles to forget all of it, wants him to forget the pain and the grief that seems to be sucking out the wolf’s life force. Derek knows it’s nearly impossible, but he wants to try. He wants Stiles to look at the pack like they are his strength instead of his ghosts wrapped in flesh and muscle. He wants Stiles to look at the pack like they could be his saviors. He knows that they all want to be.

~~~

Scott is staring out the window nervously, nails tapping an uneven rhythm on the kitchen counter. Isaac is pacing beside him and Boyd is seated silently at the table, staring ahead at nothing. Derek tries to breathe evenly to settle the nerves inside all of them, but their worry combined is nearly suffocating. His lungs heave underneath all of the pressure and he thinks it’s a wonder that he can breathe at all.

Erica pads up the basement stairs, Jackson and Deaton in tow, and Derek snaps to a stand. He watches the entrance behind them, watches for pale skin and amber eyes, but there is only darkness. He swallows thickly and raises his eyes to meet Deaton’s.

            The man looks exhausted. There are dark circles under his eyes and his skin looks paper-thin. Derek thinks it makes him look fragile, which can’t be right because Deaton is the strongest person Derek knows. He needs Deaton to be strong for all of them, for the pack and for Stiles, because there’s not another soul out there who can be.

 Deaton silently passes by Derek and takes a seat across from Boyd at the kitchen table. He laces his fingers together and perches his chin on top of his hands. Derek leans against the wall across from him and tries to be calm--tries to be the leader he’s supposed to be.

“How is he?” He finally asks, throat dry and clicking. He can hear the hand of the clock in his room tick-tick-ticking away. He thinks of the bomb inside Stiles, of the destruction lying wait beneath his skin.

Deaton raises his eyes slowly to look at Derek, and what he sees chills him to the bone. It is defeat and darkness swirling in his irises, turning his eyes into a murky black, dark like the entrance to the basement, dark like the entrance to Stiles’ heart.

“Not good. He seems to be losing himself to the memories.” Deaton says with a sigh. He runs a hand over his head, glances out the window to the moon that’s hanging full and swollen in the sky. Derek doesn’t look because he’ll get lost in the light, get lost inside the animal caged beneath his skull.

“Is there anything we can do?” Scott asks. A hopeful look lights up the shadows that are dancing across his face. Deaton doesn’t meet his eye.

“It’s a possibility. But…this is a fight Stiles might have to win on his own.”

A long silence stretches across the room. The pack shifts underneath the noiselessness, and Derek tries to concentrate on holding them all together. Erica steps forward after a moment, shakes her long curls over her shoulder.

“We’re his pack now. We have to help him.” She says. She crosses her arms over her chest, raises her chin with defiance. Derek admires the fight in her, the fire that never burns out. He thinks that the comparison is a little ironic, but it’s the closest to the truth.  Deaton regards her silently, watches her over the top of his entwined fingers. She stares back at him, doesn’t flinch once. Derek thinks she’s got steel inside her bones, and it occurs to him that it’s his pack that is staying strong for _him_.

 “The only thing you can do for Stiles now is to stay by his side. Let him know he isn’t alone. Let him know that he has the support of a new pack, a pack that will care for him for the rest of his days.” Deaton eventually says before standing up slowly. He grabs his coat from the chair and nods his head at them all.

Derek opens his mouth to tell him to stay, but this isn’t Deaton’s fight. It’s theirs. He watches the man shuffle away before turning to his pack. They raise their eyes to meet his.

 “We’ll be okay.” He says after a long silence stretches between them. It feels like miles of lies taped on top of more lies, but he has to say it. They have to believe it.

Erica moves towards the basement first and Isaac and Scott are quick to follow. Derek’s lips quirk up into a smile. If anyone can do it, it will be his pack.

~~~

Stiles doesn’t move an inch when the pack wraps it’s way around him. He barely seems to be breathing at all, and Derek presses his snout against Stiles’ chest for reassurance. Erica lets out an annoyed huff of air when Jackson accidently steps on her tail. Scott chortles at them before Boyd whacks him with a paw.

Derek shakes his head at all of them before shoving his snout back against Stiles’ chest. The younger wolf is shaking, hasn’t stopped since the moon first rose in the sky. They can all feel it, the pull of their wolves against their nerves, but they are a pack now and they know how to control it.

However, this is Stiles’ first full moon with them and he’s lost whatever anchor he used to have. Derek thinks it might have been his old Alpha, but he doesn’t mention this to the pack. He doubts it would help.

Stiles suddenly tenses up before growling and Derek pulls his head away. He doesn’t want to make the wolf feel suffocated or caged in. He doesn’t want to bring back memories of chains or shackles. He imagines the collar that was once locked around Stiles’ throat and shudders.

The rest of the pack backs away slowly and Stiles turns towards them, ears pressed flat against his head. His eyes are burning golden, but they seem fiercer and wilder. It puts Derek’s wolf on edge, but he tamps down the unease and lowers himself into a submissive position.

Stiles looks at him with a sick sort of curiosity, like a predator sizing up a crippled woodland animal. Derek’s alpha scratches sharp claws against his mind, but still, he does not move. He raises his eyes to watch Stiles, makes sure that his own stay hazel and not red. It’s important that he doesn’t trigger any more memories, especially not at this crucial time.

Boyd and Isaac herd Jackson and Erica to the far side of the basement. Scott stays with Derek, lies down behind him for support and Derek has never felt more grateful. Stiles watches them with blood-thirsty eyes and Derek wonders when he lost himself. Derek wonders how he missed it-the exact moment Stiles broke apart and re-shaped into the monstrous form of his memories. Derek wonders if he could have saved Stiles, or if this would have happened regardless of who was there.

He wonders if it might be too late to save Stiles now, and his wolf whines pitifully at the thought. Scott’s paw taps against his hind leg and he winds himself back in, reminds himself to be strong. Stiles crouches down before them, poises himself to pounce. Derek feels Scott tense behind him, but his beta doesn’t move. Derek stays still, watches when Stiles’ muscles bunch up and then loosen, watches as the wolf flies towards him with wrath and fury lining the bones of his body.

Stiles lands on him with a vicious snarl and Derek struggles with every single instinct in his body that’s telling him to _hunt, fight, kill_. He lies still when Stiles’ claws sink into his flesh and fur, lies still when his blood begins to trickle from the wounds on his back. Stiles bites down into the meat of his shoulder, rips his teeth away with a noise that shakes Derek down to his bones. Scott keens from behind him, inches his way forward, but Derek turns towards him sharply, glares him into submission.

 Before Stiles can bite into him again, Derek shifts back into his human form. His bones creak with the effort and his wolf thrashes inside his head, but when he looks down again, he’s looking at his naked, bloody skin. Stiles stares at him in shock from where’s he’s perched above Derek. Derek stares back, slowly raises a hand.

“Stiles, it’s me. It’s Derek.” He says slowly. His shoulder is already beginning to stitch itself back together and Scott nudges forward to rest his snout at the small of Derek’s back to leech away some of the pain.

Stiles watches them with a muted interest and cocks his head to the side in curiosity. It’s not quite as feral now and Derek takes that as encouragement. He makes sure not to make any sudden movements and slides forward smoothly and slowly. Stiles golden eyes snap back to Derek’s own, and this time his wolf is back in control.

“I know it’s hard to control your wolf. But I can teach you how. I can teach you to not hurt anybody,” Derek says. Stiles snarls back at him, something like disbelief lighting his eyes, “I know you don’t want to hurt us. We’re your pack now. We’re going to protect you. We can make it better.”

Stiles takes a step forward, lowers his head and bares his teeth. It’s a threatening stance, meant to scare the prey into a run. Derek realizes that Stiles wants the thrill of the chase. He wants to hunt them down one by one. It makes Derek’s blood run cold and he wonders if this cruelty was hard-wired into Stiles nerves or if he was born like that.

Derek swallows back his doubts and holds out his hand, “Please. Let us help you. You can be happier here with us. You can have a family.”

Derek feels Scott shift behind him. His beta presses in beside him, looks at Stiles with hope and tenderness and love. Stiles rears back at this, looks like his whole world has been tipped upside down. Derek thinks it’s a start.

“I know you want to help us. You healed Jackson even though he’s an asshole, because you saw the good inside of him. You see the good inside of everybody and you might think it’s a weakness, but Stiles, it’s your strength.” Scott says. He leans against Derek, gets smudges of blood on his tan skin. Derek leans back, but doesn’t move his hand away from where he’s reaching for Stiles.

The wolf turns his head away, stares up through the tiny basement window at the shining moon. Derek panics, lays his hand on Stiles’ shoulder and jerks back when Stiles turns and snaps at his fingers. He catches himself, though, and reaches out again. This time, he lunges forward and wraps his arms around Stiles body. The wolf shudders beneath him.

“I’m here, Stiles. We’re here for you. Please. Let us show you what it means to be loved.” Derek murmurs against Stiles fur. It’s matted and flat, caked with blood and dirt, but Derek only presses his face further against it. He can feel Stiles heart thundering beneath his skin.

They stay like that for a while, until Stiles bones begin to crack and snap beneath his skin. Derek loosens his hold and watches as the boy shifts back into his human flesh. He drinks in Stiles’ pale skin dotted with moles, drinks in his amber eyes and pink lips. He doesn’t think he can look away.

“Stiles…?” Scott asks after a few moments have passed.

Derek can hear Scott’s heart thundering away against his ribs, can feel his own trying to gallop away. Stiles turns his head towards Scott, nods slightly before slumping down against the basement wall. He buries his head in his hands and shakes like his nerves are coming loose. Derek takes a seat beside him, leans his shoulder against Stiles’ own.

“I knew you’d come back.” Derek says quietly. He wraps his fingers around Stiles’ quivering ones. He thinks his own are shaking too. Stiles doesn’t answer for a long time.

“I want to kill you,” Stiles finally says. Derek’s heart leaps into his throat, “I want to tear you apart and leave you for the vultures.”

Nobody says anything after that. They sit in a silence that feels cold and numb. Derek’s fingers stay locked tight around Stiles’. He’s afraid to let go.

“You wouldn’t,” Scott says. He scoots to sit on Stiles’ other side, takes his right hand and squeezes. “You wouldn’t because we are your pack.”

Stiles looks at him sideways through slanted, golden eyes. There’s grief and fear lining his face, a sort of resigned acceptance.

“I _would_ kill you. I…” He trails off, looks across the room at the concrete walls, “I was made to kill. Pack or not. It’s all I’m good for.”

“No. No you weren’t!” Scott exclaims. He leans forward on his knees, tries to get Stiles to look at him, “You are kind, Stiles. You…you’re different now. You’ve changed.”

Stiles turns towards Scott slowly, bares his fangs that are still wet with Derek’s blood, “I want to kill you. Every single fucking instinct in my body is telling me to rip your throat out while Derek watches. Every single instinct in my body is telling me to kill his pack off one by one and then kill him when he’s got nothing left, not an ounce of fight left in his bones.”

Scott freezes, turns pale in the moonlight. Derek feels like his world is breaking apart. Stiles hand is cold and clammy beneath his own. Derek wonders why he still can’t let go.

“But you didn’t.” Derek breathes out. He knows he’s clawing for something that might not be there at all, but he has to try. He doesn’t want Stiles to lose himself to the animal that his Alpha created.

Stiles looks at him blankly, like his words aren’t getting through. Like maybe they never will. Derek only squeezes his hand tighter and continues, “You didn’t kill us. You are here now, even though the full moon isn’t over. You are a _human_ and you might be capable of murder, but you didn’t kill anybody. You’ve changed because of _us_. Stiles, we can help you. We want to, more than you’ll ever know.”

Stiles hand goes limp in his own and a wounded sound escapes his throat.

“I killed my pack mates,” He says eventually, swallowing thickly. Derek can feel his heart thumping quickly through his palm, “They were disposable. They were too weak. They were just babies. Not even sixteen years old. They didn’t get a chance to grow up, to live their lives, to become stronger. I didn’t give them a chance.”

“I thought they were disgusting for being so young and weak. I hated them because they didn’t know what it felt like to be tortured by someone they loved more than life itself. I hated them because they thought they were deserving of her, when I had everything inside of me ripped out to become the perfect pet for her. I hated them and so I killed them and I _loved_ it,” Stiles takes a deep, shuddering breathe. There are tears tracking down his cheeks, landing softly on their intertwined hands. His lungs are heaving, like he can’t find enough air, and Derek strokes his thumb against Stiles’ bony fingers.

“You don’t have to tell us. It’s okay.” Derek says quietly. He brings their hands up to his lips, lays a kiss on each of Stiles’ knuckles.

“I have to tell you. You have to know.” Stiles says, but he doesn’t pull away from Derek’s tender touches. There’s a quiet resolve in his voice, so Derek nods and presses one last kiss to Stiles’ pale skin before lowering their hands into his lap.

“I love her. Even now, I feel the urge to please her even though she’s dead and gone. She’d be so proud if I could kill all of you. That’s what she trained me to do, what she expected of me. She wanted me to be her mechanical machine of death and destruction. She wanted me to do all the things she couldn’t—and if I didn’t, she’d…” Stiles cuts off, gets a faraway look in his eyes.

A long shudder runs through his body and Derek leans his shoulder against Stiles’ quaking one. There’s agony running through his veins and Derek wants to suck it in and spit it back out.

“She’d hurt me if I didn’t,” Stiles finally settles on. He doesn’t give them details, and Derek thinks maybe they are better off if they didn’t know, “I became good at killing. I was the best in the pack. They all feared me because at any moment, they knew I could tear them apart. They could see it in my eyes—the way I hated them. They were _allowed_ to be weak. I wasn’t.” Stiles laughs bitterly, squeezes his fingers around Derek’s.

“I’d have these moments of clarity. I’d ask myself why the hell I loved her so much when she treated me like I was her little pet. Her little fucking murder machine. I wondered why I loved her and obeyed her like some mindless dog, like some crippled idiot. But then she’d look at me with those beautiful red eyes and I’d be captivated.” Stiles turns towards Derek, watches him with stricken guilt.

“Sometimes, I think that’s why I’m drawn to you. Your eyes…I see her in them and I love you more than anything in this world. I love you unconditionally and irrationally. But you aren’t her. You never could be,” Stiles looks away again, lets out a breath of air, “I’m scared to live. Most times, I don’t think I want to anymore. I want to tear myself apart because I don’t know how to live without her. I don’t know how to live without punishment and I don’t know how to live without the thrill of the kill. I think about killing the pack a lot. I wonder if it’ll help piece together all of the confusion in my head, but I’m afraid because I’ve come to care for all of you…I _want_ to live, to become what you all think you see in me. I want to _change_ , but I don’t know if I can.”

Stiles leans his head against Derek’s shoulder and lets his tears run free. Derek can feel the warmth of them drip down his arm and he feels an ache deep inside of him. It’s full and heavy, like the moon hanging in the sky. He breathes in Stiles’ scent—the misery and the pain and the death. He breathes it all in and realizes that he won’t let Stiles give up. Not like this.

“You can change. You already have. You admitted it yourself-you care for us. If you were really the monster you said you were, you would have killed us the moment you woke up in our house all those weeks ago. You’ve had plenty of chances, too, but you didn’t. You’ve opened up to us, given us your heart. Stiles, you can be happy.” Derek says. He sounds desperate, like he’s pleading, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He needs Stiles to understand. He needs Stiles to gain back the will to live.

Stiles doesn’t say anything for a long time. He breathes unevenly against Derek’s shoulder and clings onto Derek’s hand like it’s his last lifeline.

“It’s okay to want to live. It’s okay to want to be happy. It’s _okay_ ,” Derek whispers against the top of Stiles’ head, “So live for us. Live for _yourself_. Give yourself the chance to be who you were meant to be.”

When Stiles finally speaks, he says, “Don’t leave me.”

Derek smiles and brings his other hand up to stroke Stiles tear-stained cheek.

“I won’t.” He says, and holds Stiles until his tears stop running.

* * *

Come say hi and hang out with me [here](http://void-nogitsune.tumblr.com)! 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for Kiley aka the thepatronsaintofdaydreams!  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABU! I love you mucho and I hope you have a marvelous day <333  
> You all should follow her on tumblr if you get a chance and perhaps wish her a happy birthday ! Her URL is http://thepatronsaintofdaydreams.tumblr.com
> 
> To be honest, this chapter was so hard to write. I legit almost stopped halfway through and was thinking about just trashing the entire story because I came to the conclusion that I suck at writing and that this story is a mess. However, I realized that a lot of people are invested in it and I'm actually pretty invested in it too. I know where I want to go with this, I just bring myself down a lot and convince myself I'm a bad writer and that I should give up.
> 
> With that being said, if I ever take longer than usual to post a new chapter, it's most likely because I'm either too busy with college/work or it's because I've sucked myself into a black hole of depression/worthlessness. I apologize in advance for that, but I'm going to try my very best to keep myself on a schedule in order to finish this story <3 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I know a lot of people were requesting for Derek and his pack to find out more about Stiles' past, so I tried to add in a little bit of that. But have no fear, I will have them hear about his past more and more as the story goes on. It won't just be this little bit!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek convinces Stiles to watch the pack training. Stiles tries to concentrate on control and not on the bloodlust the continuously swims beneath his skin. He watches his pack mates rip each other apart, not enough to kill, and his wolf howls with the need for death and decay. Derek stays by his side, lays a steadying hand on his shoulder and reminds Stiles that he is in control. It helps to clear the fog of murder and Stiles fights against the instincts that threaten to take him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine

_The world was on fire and no-one could save me, but you_

_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do_

_I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_

**-Wicked Game by RAIGN**

**\--------**

Stiles stares at the bed with mistrust. He circles around it cautiously, presses a palm to the fluffy comforter and then steals his hand back as if burned. Erica is leaning against the doorframe, watching him with amusement lighting up her brown eyes. He turns to her and crosses his arms.

“This isn’t natural.” He says. She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at him.

“Stiles, it’s a _bed_.” She points out. He bares his teeth and turns away, shoulders hunched.

“It doesn’t feel right.” He says eventually, staring at the wooden headboard of the bed. He’s used to concrete and chains, hard walls and cold floors. This isn’t meant for him. It isn’t made for the lines of steel that have wound their way around his body, grip tight like a vice.

“Come on, come here.” Erica says.

She stalks forward and sits on the bed before holding her hands out for Stiles to take. He clenches his jaw and glares, but he still hesitantly lays his hands in hers. She tugs him forward gently, ( _not a threat, not a threat_ ) and he sits beside her, hands clamped dangerously tight around her smaller, softer ones. He focuses on his breathing ( _not the brittle bones beneath her skin, not the breakable figments between her muscles_ ) and sits still as stone on the mattress.

She bounces around a bit, laughs when he startles and grips at the sheets beneath him. He glares at her with no real heat and lets his lips quirk up in a small smile when he notices her grinning.

“See, not so bad, huh?” She asks, smoothing a hand over the wrinkled bed sheets. He doesn’t answer. She lies back on the bed and pulls him down beside her. They stare at the white ceiling above them quietly, hands still intertwined.

“I know this is hard for you. But we’ll be here for you every step of the way. And this…this is the first step.” Erica says into the silence. Stiles turns his head towards her, but she’s doesn’t look back. There’s something distant in her eyes, like a memory haunting the membranes in her skull.

“Please.” She whispers, but nothing less and nothing more. _Please don’t lose yourself to the darkness again. Please become our pack. Please don’t leave us. Please don’t hurt yourself, please stay alive._

Stiles swallows thickly, feels a burning rise in the back of this throat. He squeezes her hand gently, runs a thumb over the back of her hand and says, “Okay.”

~~~

Derek convinces Stiles to train with the rest of the betas. He tells Stiles it’s about control, and Stiles has no room to argue. They start on a Saturday evening when the basement is bathed in orange light and lingering shadows. Erica and Jackson are up to spar first. Derek stands beside him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Stiles thinks, _control, control, control._

“All right, pretty boy. Let’s go.” Erica growls, face morphed into her beta form. Jackson smirks, claws hanging at his sides like forgotten appendages. They stare at each other before Derek nods for them to continue, and then they both jump.

It’s gory and brutal and Stiles can feel his blood boiling inside of his veins. Erica slashes at Jackson’s face and manages to nick him at the corner of his eye. Blood rushes down his cheek and drips down onto the floor. He roars in pain, eyes glowing a bright blue. A killer at his finest. Stiles doesn’t realize he’s leaning forward, eyes glowing gold, until Derek reaches out a hand to pull him back, anchor him.

Stiles swallows over the lump in his throat and tries to calm his instincts. This isn’t for the kill. This isn’t for death or for murder. This is for strength, this is for the pack. He watches as Jackson kicks Erica’s legs out from underneath her. She drops to the ground, head cracking against concrete. Her hair is matted with blood.

Stiles remembers ripping blonde hair straight from the scalp, remembers a young face twisted in agony. He smiles eagerly when Jackson crouches over her, claws poised above her throat.

He steps forward again, eager to see more blood, but Jackson doesn’t kill her. His face softens into human features and he backs away before holding out a hand to help Erica up. She takes his hand and leaps to her feet before shaking her hair out. She takes a strand between her fingers and stares at it with disgust.

“I’m going to need to either cut my hair off or start wearing a shower cap.” She says with a scowl. She turns around to look at Derek but catches Stiles’ eye instead. Something flashes across her face, too quick for Stiles to decipher, but then she’s stalking forward into his space.

“Not too bad, huh?” She asks, grin feral.

Stiles stares at her blankly, lost in the memory that’s wrapped its way around him like a body bag. Her grin slowly edges into a frown and she lays a blood-covered hand on his arm. Stiles jerks back, hands shaking with effort. His claws dig into his palms.

“Stiles?” She asks hesitantly. He works his jaw a few times, trying to find words. He can feel Derek’s presence behind him and he desperately latches onto it.

“F-Fine. It was fine.” Stiles eventually says. He attempts a smile, but it must look mechanical because Erica doesn’t smile back.

“Just fine?” She asks playfully, but it’s with effort and her fear isn’t lost on him. He feels a hot, burning shame rise in his chest and he wants to run some place where his wolf isn’t a monster.

He wonders if a place like that even exists.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Derek speaks from behind them. He wraps a warm hand around Stiles’ forearm and starts to lead him towards the stairs. Stiles glances back at Erica and tries to say sorry.

He realizes he doesn’t know how.

~~~

 

Derek takes him on a run to help release some of the tension that has built up beneath Stiles’ skin. He bounds ahead of Derek, tongue lolling with each heavy pant. Stiles runs until the act of breathing alone feels like fire burning through his lungs. He runs until his paws are raw and aching. He runs until his head is finally clear of all the blood that was flowing through his vision, all the torn skin and silent pleas.

When they make it back onto Hale territory, Stiles collapses next to a winding creek and lazily sips at the cool, running water. Derek emerges from the underbrush next to him and stands beside him quietly. He’s panting roughly, clearly exhausted from the hard pace that Stiles had set. Still, though, he had kept stride and allowed Stiles to lead them. Stiles swivels his head around to tuck it beneath Derek’s and breathes in deeply.

Derek nuzzles his nose against the top of Stiles ears and it feels like comfort— like safety and protection. Stiles allows his breathing to even out and his senses to focus only on Derek, on Alpha, on home. After a few more moments, Derek nudges Stiles with his snout and turns towards the house purposefully. Stiles hauls himself up onto all fours and follows Derek back to the house, nerves buzzing with calm satisfaction.

Erica greets them at the door with barely concealed excitement. She holds her arms open for Stiles and lets him lick her all over the face. She says, “Stop, no, don’t do that”, but she giggles through the words, so Stiles just grins wolfishly and slathers her up some more.

“I’m feeling sort of jealous.” Isaac says mockingly as he appears in the doorway. Stiles leans down on his forearms before bounding up and giving Isaac the same spit-bath. Isaac laughs and sputters through the assault. Stiles finally settles down enough to go to his room to shift and change into clothes. When he walks back out in a pair of grey sweatpants and a black star wars shirt, Isaac and Erica are all cleaned up and watching TV with Jackson, Boyd, and Scott.

He glances around before spotting Derek in the kitchen, stirring a pot of steaming spaghetti. With a grin, Stiles pads up to his Alpha before leaning his head over Derek’s shoulder. Stiles breathes him in, a soft smile forming on his face. Derek nuzzles the top of his head before lightly pushing him away.

“Go set the table, I’ll finish up here.” He says, and Stiles scrambles to obey. He sees Derek’s dark look, though, so he tries to slow himself down. He wants to say that it’s in his bones, the sickening urge to submit and to serve, but he knows it will only upset Derek more.

When he finishes with the table, Stiles hesitates between the kitchen and the living room when he catches sight of his pack mates cuddled up on the couch. He feels a split second of loneliness and isolation before Scott turns his head and beckons him over with a bright smile. Stiles smiles shyly before taking a seat next to Scott. Isaac whines because he wants to sit next to Stiles and Scott sticks his tongue out before draping his arm over Stiles’ shoulders and grinning.

Stiles feels a sudden warmth bloom in his chest and presses his body closer to Scott before sighing with content. Eventually, Derek calls them in for dinner and the entire pack scrambles over each other in haste to get to the table. Stiles gets there first and digs into the spaghetti with a fervor he’d thought he only had when it came to murder. He can feel Derek watching him, so he looks up and smiles softly. Derek smiles back and it’s probably the best thing Stiles has ever seen.

~~~

They continue to train with Stiles as a spectator. Derek says he will get better at controlling his wolf, but most times Stiles is forced to leave the room because he can’t control his fangs and claws and the bloodlust that comes alive inside his veins. His pack mates watch him with concern but he can’t quite meet their eyes because his wolf is howling for him to tear them apart, limb-by-limb. He can’t quite meet their eyes because he doesn’t want them to see the monster that is constantly lurking beneath his skin.

Derek takes him on daily runs now. It helps to relieve some of the tension that builds up during training and it allows Stiles’ wolf to roam free. The bloodlust burns down to a silent boil with each mile that Stiles runs. He’s not quite sure if it’s because he’s farther from the source of his violent thoughts or if it’s because he’s with Derek’s wolf. It might be a little bit of both, but Stiles tries to focus on the dirt beneath his paws and Derek’s panting instead of the caged thing inside his head.

~~~

It’s another month before Derek urges Stiles to join in the pack’s training. Stiles heart nearly beats straight out of his chest and he nearly turns tail and runs before Derek snatches him by the back of his shirt collar and hauls him towards Scott. Scott grins sheepishly and waves a partially clawed hand in Stiles’ direction.

Stiles hisses and grunts against Derek’s hold. “This is _not_ a good idea, Derek.”

Derek sends him a withering look before letting go of his shirt only to push him towards Scott. “We need to learn to fight as a pack. In case you haven’t noticed, you _are_ pack, Stiles.”

Stiles struggles to swallow back a low growl before he flashes his eyes at Derek in submission. He turns towards Scott and flicks his own claws out. Scott’s eyes glow gold for a moment before his face partially shifts. Stiles clenches his jaw and prepares for the onslaught of Scott’s attack.

He rushes forward, claws poised to sink into Stiles’ flesh. Stiles dodges to the left in a swift roll before bouncing back to his feet. Scott barely misses a beat before he’s swiveling on his foot and pouncing towards Stiles. His fangs extend towards Stiles’ neck, but Stiles lets out a skull-rattling roar to halt Scott’s attack. It works for only a moment, but it’s enough for Stiles to kick Scott’s legs out from underneath him. The older boy falls onto his back and Stiles crouches atop of him, claws aimed towards his neck.

His breathing is a little shallow and his vision swims with read before him. He can practically feel the pulse of Scott’s veins beneath his fingertips. He wants blood to be spilled; he wants to feel the warmth of crimson beneath his fingernails. He wants the murder in his nerves to reign free, but he forces himself to slowly back off of Scott, limbs shaking with the effort.

He numbly notices that Derek has taken several steps forward. He’s a few feet away from Stiles, hands held out as if to grab him. It makes Stiles’ wolf growl viciously because he is not an animal that is meant to be tamed. Derek takes a step forward but before Stiles can react, he’s enveloped in Derek’s arms. His wolf nearly snorts in surprise at the warm embrace. He was expecting hands like shackles and fingers like nails to pin him down. He was expecting reprimands and yelling, a leash to be wrapped around his scarred throat.

Instead, Derek has his big palm wrapped gently around the back of Stiles’ neck, his other rubbing circles into his back. Stiles grumbles with satisfaction. His claws slowly retract back into his fingertips and Stiles takes this opportunity to tangle his hands in the front of Derek’s t-shirt.

“Derek.” He says, the word thick in his mouth, “Alpha.”

He can feel Derek’s mouth stretch in a smile where it rests against his forehead.

When Derek finally pulls away, Scott tackles Stiles to the ground and grins widely. “Dude! You didn’t kill me!”

Stiles barks out a startled laugh before racking his eyes over Scott’s forms. There’s no blood, no fatal injuries. His mouth settles into a soft smile, “Yeah, I guess I didn’t.”

Scott’s eyes brighten before he rubs his knuckle against Stiles’ head. Stiles grunts and pushes Scott off, leaning down playfully before pouncing and tickling Scott’s waist.

“Uncle, uncle!” Scott laughs breathlessly. Stiles smiles mischievously before finally backing off. He glances around and notices the rest of his pack mates grinning widely at him.

“All right. Who’s next?” Stiles asks, and beams when all three of the other wolves grin in a clear challenge.

~~~

The bloodlust still haunts the hollow of Stiles’ bones, but it gets easier to deal with as each week passes. The pack has begun to go on runs with Derek and Stiles in their wolf forms. On the third night that the pack joins them, Stiles shifts back into his human skin. The moonlight reflects off of his pale skin and his eyes glow gold in the darkness. The others shift back as well and they give Stiles looks of curiosity.

“My old pack…” Stiles trails off and averts his gaze for a moment. His pack mates fall into a frozen silence. He can feel their eyes boring holes into his skin and he feels exposed down to his nerve endings. He glances towards Derek and finds resolve in the crimson glow of his eyes.

“In my old pack, our runs were hunts. We’d hunt omegas, some too weak to even fight. Some strong enough to survive. Those who lived joined our pack but they never lasted long. They weren’t bitten by the alpha and were used as first defense against any attacks. They were never strong enough against those who were born wolves and those who were bitten by an alpha with a pack as large as mine.”

Stiles takes a breath and digs his fingernails into his palms. It’s never easy to talk about the past that always lingers inside of him like a disease. He feels its rot like it’s something tangible, eating away at his strength to live.

“If they lasted more than a few weeks, we’d have matches. Pack mate against pack mate. Different then the type of training we do here. It was meant to end in death. It’d dwindle down our numbers but would make the pack stronger overall. My alpha…she’d clip her leash on me and parade me around. I was her champion and I’d be the one to start out the fights to set an example.”

“I’d go against one of my bitten brothers or sisters. The ones I’d known for years. The ones who feared me down to their very bones because they’d seen what I could do. Their fear always hindered them. They’d fight with an animalistic desperation, but instinct was never enough. My moves were always calculated, controlled. My wolf controlled me, but it had been trained to obey, no matter how messily I’d want to rip them apart. It was…methodological. The muscles in an ankle ripped out first. This way, they’d have the disadvantage of speed. I’d bite down on a front paw; break the delicate bones stitched together by muscle. They’d be limping by then, barely able to stand. Yet still, they’d press on. They wanted to live, you see, but I was trained to kill. I could not disobey my Alpha, no matter how difficult the opponent.”

Stiles’ eyes glaze over with past memories. His claws itch against the tips of his fingers and he imagines the invisible blood that stains his body. He swallows over the hard lump that’s formed in his throat. A hand lands on his, startling him out of this own thoughts. Derek has loomed close, face hanging mere inches front Stiles’.

“You don’t have to continue, Stiles.” He says softly. His thumb strokes along the inside of Stiles’ wrist where his pulse rapidly pumps. Stiles shakes his head before nuzzling into Derek’s neck. He pulls in a breath of air and allows the smell of his new Alpha to calm the buzzing in his nerves.

He speaks calmly and quietly into Derek’s neck. “The meaning of running has changed for me. Before, it was to deliver death or to escape it. Now…” Stiles raises his head and glances at his pack mates. They watch him with attentive eyes.

“Now, they are only a form of freedom and comfort.” Stiles watches as smiles break out over his pack’s faces. This time, it is Derek who presses his face into Stiles’ neck. He kisses at a silver scar that stands out at the hollow of this throat. Stiles does not flinch.

Stiles whispers, “Thank you,” before shifting back to his wolf to run with his pack.

* * *

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy cow. this chapter was supposed to be finished MONTHS ago. I apologize to all of you who have been waiting very patiently. I know an apology is not nearly enough, but I have NOT given up on this fanfiction. I plan to finish it till the end. Unfortunately, I'm writing it without an outline so I'm literally winging the plotline, which makes to difficult to sit down and write because I have to argue with myself over which plot line I should go down and how. Now that the semester is finally winding down to an end, I should have much more time to focus on this story. Thank you to those who have decided to stick around, and again, I'm sorry!


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